


Paint It BLACK - This is Remus Lupin

by adVENTitiious



Series: Paint It BLACK [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Confused and Upset Remus, Distracted Remus, M/M, Not Together Remus/Sirius, Remus with Another Guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 03:18:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4505649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adVENTitiious/pseuds/adVENTitiious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because Remus Lupin doesn't Love Ian Diggory...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint It BLACK - This is Remus Lupin

**Author's Note:**

> My Remus character's thoughts and emotions from 'Black,' because he was feeling exceptionally share-y/expressive, or maybe just thoroughly depressed. Haha. The titling and story pic is inspired of course by The Rolling Stone's song Paint it Black.

He's sitting on a bed with a silver comforter and blue curtains, and warm fingers are sliding down his sides only to toy with the hem of his shirt questioningly as he kisses lips that make him smile, blue eyes closed, hiding that dance of excitement every time they meet his quiet hazel.

"Can I?"

The words asked gently even as a roughness spikes the Ravenclaw's breath more with each exhale, and then he's inhaling it when their lips press together once more open.

Fingers tug on his hem again, gently - always gently - and he nods his head, making caramel and platinum locks follow its lead, ignoring the uneven beat his heart _just_ took up, trying to distract, to stop—"Yes," he says, because his nodding mustn't had been convincing enough for either of them.

Warm air feels cool on his skin that would be glimmering if there were any light in the space, as buttons come undone one—by—one, and he clenches eyes shut, the darkness surrounding feeling too revealing as knuckles brush his now exposed lower stomach making it quiver under the touch.

"All right?" Hands have stopped.

He shakes his head. No. He nods his head. He's nodding his head, because he's a liar. He's become the thing he hates, and it's fitting. Because his fingers are undoing buttons that are not _his_ , and he's nudging sleeves over broad shoulders, and his fingertips are caressing skin that is smooth and unmarred from his monthly affliction, because it's blissfully unaware - making it feel like it's not actually real. Like he's not real.

 _Remus, don't worry about it, birds dig scars, I'm going to be more popular than you now_.

"Wait."

Two sets of breaths fill the space; one eager but patient the other reluctant but hurried.

Hazel eyes focus. Blue eyes with dark brown locks are in their vision, and they both need the color leached from them.

Grey and black.

Hazel eyes pinch close, it's better, and he shifts closer. His hand skims over _warm_ skin, and he's letting it lean into him and _take_ his space, pressing him back and back and down until he's lying on lesser sheets. Because gold is better than silver, it lasts, it doesn't decompose.

_What d'you say Moony? Want to break in these new sheets with me?_

"Shit."

"What?" Fingertips stop, hovering at the very edge that if they were to fall inward, they'd be diving between modesty and indecency. "Is this okay?"

Hazel eyes blink. _No_. But it _is_ okay. He knows it's okay. It's _better_ than okay.

_Remus. Remus, can I touch it?_

He shivers as phantom fingers are once more sliding down his stomach, as a body as familiar as his own presses up against him, and he stifles a groan, because he _isn't_ thinking about that right now, he can't. "Yeah," he says.

"Are you sure?" Blue eyes study, but they don't see. It's dark. It's always dark, because Remus is a dying flame, a fucking candlestick, and each month the moon sets him ablaze and uses up a little more of his wick, melts away a little more of his wax, and it _burns_ as it trails down, leaving messy lines all over him. _Scars_. And he's afraid, he doesn't want to use it unnecessarily, so he can only truly see when he's around someone who's so bright they can share their light with him.

_It's like a balloon, if only I could pop it for you I would, I'd do anything for you Moony... you know that right?_

His heart begins to beat harder, like it wants to tell him something. Like it wants to scream something at him. Something he knows is true, but it's not fair, and things should be fair sometimes. And he really wants it to be fair _right now_. Because he's afraid he'll hate himself, hate _him_ if he acknowledges it. Because _he_ would do anything for him, but Remus doesn't know how to ask for what he wants. He's tried.

_I'm sorry Remus, are you upset with me? Did I do something wrong?_

His mind supplies the musky scent that had been painted all over _him_ like a stake, a claim, and it makes his stomach turn, makes him wish he could be the monster everyone thinks he is. "I'm sure."

Fingers begin to tug, buttons undoing, shifting and rustling soft material around even softer gasps of breath, struggling to open up as the part of him hidden underneath swells in anticipation, running on its own agenda, blissfully ignorant, because as far as it's concerned it always gets what it wants. Because it's in denial and has an enviable imagination, and most of all, it remembers its favorite like no time has passed.

"Is that okay?"

He nods, the sound of the back of his head rubbing against satin silver his only contribution now, because he's setting an example. Talk less. How does skin that is roughened more each day feel so good on the silkiest skin imaginable? It seems like it should be the other way around. He huffs a laugh at the thought.

"What's funny?"

Nothing now. He clears his throat. He's become an arsehole. "Sorry, it's nothing," he says, and the hand speeds up and tightens around him as if rewarding the sound of his smooth, low voice. And then his back arches, and his hips float up a few inches before falling back down, remembering they can't actually fly just like the rest of his body.

_Care for a ride on my broomstick, Moony?_

"Remus...?"

He's laughing again. Shit. He pulls confused lips down, closer, and meets them apologetically, over and over. He likes Ian. He does. He groans as the hand tightens around him, and he begins to roll up into its grip even if it's not quite right.

 _It's enough_ , he tells himself, _it's enough_.


End file.
